Hoodsman: Queens and Widows

by Smith, Skye

  "I came here to see if there were ships to..."

  "Sonja,” said Judith. "I have never met the woman, but John sent that one word in an urgent message. Is she your daughter?” Judith searched his face urgently, but suddenly felt foolish because Roas was laughing.

  "My goodness, Judith,” Roas smirked, "how many husbands must you collect before you leave go of this one. The future King of England has proposed to you. The future King of Denmark has proposed to you. This jealousy for this, this, this lowly peasant, ill suits you."

  Judith blushed, which was unusual for her, and explained, "Canute did not propose. He told me that he would not sleep with me until we were married. Meanwhile, Robert tells me that his mother Queen Matilda still refuses our betrothal, and that the church will not marry us unless she confesses her original sin, and that she will never do. Besides, if I wanted to be the Queen of England, I would marry Canute and eventually be the Queen of both Denmark and England."

  Raynar was suddenly alert and his eyes keen. "So what do you know that you are not telling?"

  Judith pouted at him. She refused to be drawn into a political discussion. "All I know is that I want to go home to my house in Huntingdon. Rich courts are fine for short visits, but I have always detested living in them. It is like being locked in a market pillory for all to see and make comments about.” she sobbed and bent her head.

  "I want to sit in my own kitchen with the cook and plan my day while I bake bread. I want to sun myself on the banks of the river and chat with the other women as we wash clothes. I want my children to be free to ride their horses and not risk abduction or heinous accident."

  Roas stood, handed her baby to Raynar, moved behind Judith and began stroking her shoulders and neck. "It is a good life, isn't it? I mean, so long as you can spend winter somewhere not so damp."

  "What,” Judith shrugged off her touch, "like here. It is the same here in the winter as in the Fens. Gloomy and grey and damp and with winds that bite through your clothes.” She lunged forward and grabbed Raynar's hand. "Take me home."

  "But you are plump,” said Raynar, "are you not with child by Robert of Normandy.” He felt foolish specifying of Normandy, but there were so many Roberts and so many counts named Robert. He broke off the thought because Roas was staring daggers at him and Judith had collapsed into tears.

  "Still born,” mouthed Roas, and then smothered Judith with hugs.

  "He was perfectly formed, a beautiful baby,” Judith kept sobbing over and over. She looked up, saw Raynar bouncing the beautiful boy on his knee, and again collapsed into sobs. "Take me home. I want to be like Beatrice, not Matilda."

  "There is no ship,” said Raynar softly.

  "What,” Judith looked up at him through her tears. "Between you and Hereward and Klaes you have a fleet of forty."

  "Forty seven,” corrected Roas.

  Judith glared at her, "and no ship to take us home."

  "I could ask at Brugge's northern port,” replied Raynar, “but those ships usually ply the coast to Denmark.”

  "Denmark,” said Judith, her eyes widening. "Canute, Canute has a ship."

  "And he would help you to leave him?” Raynar asked, now very unsure of himself.

  "I asked him to bed me, not to marry me. I found out that Canute considers them one and the same,” Judith wiped her eyes with Roas's handkerchief.

  "Speaking of marry, what of Simon of Saint Liz?” asked Raynar. “Are you not still betrothed to him? Is it safe for you to return to Huntingdon? What of your estates? They were taken from you."

  "My honors were taken from me, including my title and the land that I administered on behalf of the crown, such as the bailey at Huntingdon. Those could have been transferred to Simon without my betrothal. My own estates, the ones I hold in trust for Waltheof's son; the ones that Walt inherited from his father Siward; those they could not take from me.

  The many estates that I hold from Siward and Waltheof, could only be claimed through my hand in marriage. The stupid thing is that most of those estates are in the North, and I have never visited them and I don't even know where they are. Siward's stewards and tenants still care for them. One of the reasons I fled here to escape a marriage to Simon was to keep faith with Waltheof's clan in the North."

  "And you have never visited them?” asked Roas, "Not even with Waltheof?"

  "Walt told me that the most northern ones were now a wasteland with no farmers or herdsmen because his lands were harrowed especially hard by the Normans. We did visit our estates nearer to Huntingdon, you know, those in Cambridgeshire, Northamptonshire, Bedfordshire, and Lincolnshire. I have since visited all of them with Ray. Only once did I go with Waltheof to our estates in Hallamshire, near Sheffield, but...."

  "Sheffield?” Raynar grabbed her hand, "Sheffield is where Sonja lives, where John is now. That is where I must go."

  "Sheffield? But in your letter from Paris you said Scafeld,” queried Judith.

  "Sheffield, Scafeld, Sheafeld,” Raynar calmed himself and his voice, "they are different languages but the same place. Named for the River Sheaf. What are your holdings there?"

  "You expect me to remember. I was new with child at the time we visited, and carrying another. My mind was mush."

  "Please, think back."

  "I remember what Walt told me, better than what I saw. He told me that Hallamshire was the border between Mercia and Northumbria, and that his father Siward owned a third of the estates in the shire. It was one of the reasons that he had been made Earl of Northumbria. Most of the other estates were owned by families who had served as the Earls of Mercia forever."

  "Yes, Earl Edwin owned many,” interrupted Raynar, "He was my Earl when I was living in the Peaks. I followed him in battle against the Norse and the Normans, that is, until he was killed. Morcar was Edwin's younger brother. They are probably his estates now, if he still lives."

  "He still lives,” said Judith softly, "Before he died, Walt told me that Morcar will have a long life but as a captive in Normandy, so that William can rule his estates as trustee. William appointed one of his barons, Roger de Busli, to govern Morcar's lands in Hallamshire. It was he who Walt went to see. We had heard complaints from Walt's tenants about the Buslis."

  "Roger de Busli. He is the source of all evil in Scafeld. There he is called Roger the Bully because he bulls the teen serf women as soon as they are fertile. It is his knights who keep trying to gain Sonja's estates by rape."

  "Then we will go there together, you and I. There must be a way to solve this without you again being outlawed, for that is what will happen if you go alone. You will revenge any misdeeds by these Buslis and you will be outlawed for it."

  "No, you must stay far away from the Bully,” cautioned Raynar. "As soon as you are within his grasp, he will slit his own wife's throat so he can be free of her so he can betroth you by rape. You must keep in mind that you are the wealthiest English widow in the kingdom. The finest betrothal prize of all, and still young, and still a beauty, and still fertile."

  "He wouldn't dare", she began to say, but stopped, for she knew it was true. Of course he would. "If I cannot go with you, then I will have a scroll prepared that makes you my steward in Hallamshire, with the right to act in all things as me and to speak for me in court. Our business partnership has always earned well, and I see no reason why it should not be expanded. Look how peaceful my villages in the Fens are, when your bowmen are living in them."

  Raynar had shifted along the bench and was now shoulder to shoulder with Judith and she had her arms wrapped around him and her head on his shoulder. The baby still bounced on his knee. Roas looked at them and sighed. "The linen on my bed is fresh. Why don't you both go and rest while I get on with my chores.” They both smiled up at her and then smiled at each other.

  "That would be lovely, thank you Roas,” said Judith.

  "You are very generous, love,” Raynar said to Roas, but his mind was elsewhere. "What villages do you have in Hallamshire?"


  "Oh dear,” Judith pressed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes to better think. "There was, oh dear, they were such tiny places. Bradfield and Broomhill, and was it Fulwood, then Loxley and Strines ..."

  "Loxley, that is where Sonja's family estate is, near to Loxley."

  "Then you see, you must go as my steward, for then you can bargain for her safety with de Bully."

  "Are you a Countess again, for if so, the Sheriff of Nottingham may be of help to us?"

  "Well according to my Robert, who is still in Caen bargaining with his mother to become the Regent of Normandy until his father has recovered from his wounds,” announced Judith. "I am again the Countess of Huntingdon. Maud is my heir. If I marry again, Huntingdon goes to Maud immediately."

  "But that is very strange,” said Roas. She had never understood Norman or English nobles and their betrothal customs. In the Frisian villages where she had grown up, women took husbands for the season. The children were raised by the village. The land was communal.

  Judith blushed, again, "Maud is now betrothed to Simon."

  "She is six,” sputtered Raynar in shock.

  "Seven,” Judith said sharply. "He may not even see her until she is sixteen. If I die, he becomes her guardian until she is sixteen."

  Raynar slammed his fist on the table and yelled, "William is wounded and captured and that is the best bargain that your bloody Robert could make", and immediately regretted it because the baby, startled, began to cry.

  Judith took the baby from him and as soon as the baby was in her arms she seemed to glow. The mother glow. The baby stared back at Raynar and stopped crying. "I don't mind. It means that the court cannot betroth me again. Besides, Simon is old, almost forty, and he is an adventurer. He will not live long enough to bed Maud."

  Roas looked into Raynar's blue eyes and shivered at the cold she saw there. Truer words were never spoken.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 3 - Welcomed back to Huntingdon in March 1079

  Canute's ship coasted up to the dock. All Huntingdon had turned out. The ship had been seen an hour ago from the tower as it wound passed Ely. It flew Waltheof's pennant. Their countess had returned.

  Canute was not aboard, but this voyage would profit him well just from the barrels of French wine that were being unloaded onto the dock. The first ship across after winter got the best prices. Merchants and carters were mobbing the captain bidding the prices up.

  Women were mobbing Judith, and she happily lifted each of her children over the gunnels and into the arms of the tall and handsome Frisian women. She kept saying the word "home” as she kissed each woman's cheek.

  Men were mobbing Raynar and grabbing for his elbow for a warriors greeting. With each greeting the words "John” and "Sonja” were whispered into his ear.

  Progress was slow through the throng and up the slope to the burgh gate. Once inside the walls they could walk more freely. The safety of their possessions did not even cross their minds. Half of the contents of the ship had been hefted onto shoulders, and only the cries of the occasional Danish oarsman saved the seamen's chests from wrongly being taken to the manor.

  A cart sat unhitched and unloaded beside the first alehouse. Raynar changed tack slightly to pass closer to it. It had John's wondrous axles. The kind with the iron ring hubs. The carter stood up from his bench and hopped over the alehouse fence to walk beside him. "When do you leave for Scafeld?” the carter asked.

  "Should it be soon?” replied Raynar.

  "Yesterday. It is all arranged"

  Raynar paused to ask "How are the highways? Am I safe on a fast horse?” knowing that the carter would assume he meant safe from Norman patrols.

  "Only so far as the Nottinghamshire border. After that you would be safer on a farm nag. Do you know Rockingham, the other side of Rockingham forest. Swap horses at the carter stable there. They will be expecting you."

  After many questions during the passage, Judith had found out the entire history of the long time friendship between Sonja and Raynar. The older, noble Sonja had seduced him when he was a young teen and making his bread by portering lead oar from the high mines of the Peaks down to the closest carts at Grindleford. Sonja's husband's heir was actually seeded by Raynar. Now she was a wealthy English widow just like Judith, and just like Judith, Sonja was a prime catch for any Norman knight who coveted her estates.

  She knew that Raynar wanted to head west as soon as they stepped onto the docks. He had slept through the entire river journey on purpose. She now stopped to watch him talk to a swarthy carter. This was it. This would be fare well. She grabbed the priest who was bowing to her, and then grabbed Raynar and said "Let us enter the church."

  The words caused a silence to settle on the crowd about them. And then a woman close by yelled out, "They are going to swear the bans,” and poor Judith could not deny it for the cheers were too loud to speak against. Once inside the church, Judith told the priest to get quill and ink. While he was off fetching, she asked of the crowd now pushing through the doors, if any could write. Her bailiff stepped forward. She was glad to see that he hadn't been replaced by the king.

  When the priest returned, she handed him a scroll pipe and said "These scrolls need be signed and witnessed. It makes Raynar Porter the steward of all my estates in Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, and Northumbria, and grants him the power to act and sign on my behalf for the matters of those estates.” She unfurled the scrolls and there were three copies. She signed each of them, then Raynar signed, and then the priest and the bailiff signed in witness. She kept one copy and handed the other two to Raynar. He rolled them up and pushed them into his map pipe.

  They went back outside into the weak spring sunlight. The carter whistled to some lads holding up the walls of the alehouse. They ran off and returned leading a wild looking Frisian stallion out from behind the building. He was saddled and had a pack already bulging behind the saddle. Raynar turned to Judith and made to speak. She stopped his words with a full and long kiss, then pulled away and said simply "Go. Save her, and then come back and keep me safe."

  He hugged her to him and then let her loose, slowly and gently. "Two weeks, no more,” he whispered into her ear. The stallion was beside him now. He clipped his quiver and bow onto the saddle pack and looped his sword sheath over one of the horns, and then hauled himself into the saddle.

  The stallion raised its long and lustrous black tale and snorted loudly. He wanted to run. A crowd of folk was in the stallion's way. They looked at the snorting horse and made a corridor for him. As soon as the corridor was complete, the Frisian leaped forward and did what he was bred for. He ran.

  The warning that a runaway horse was approaching reached the gate just in time for the folk there to clear the way. With the lightest touch of Raynar's knee, the black turned hard as they cleared the gate and made for the western highway. Raynar waved to the men looking up from the dock. He saw the captain of the ship wave back, his mission now well accomplished. He then he put his head close to the black's neck and leaned forward so that his weight was over the blacks shoulders, and they flew.

  The Frisian blacks were not just beautiful and fast, they were also smart. They were one of the few horses that would not allow a rider to ride them to destruction. Raynar allowed the horse to pace himself, let him take his own water, let him choose the speed. The black chose to run full speed only half the time and only when the cartway was soft on his hoofs.

  The stablemen at Rockingham were expecting him. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day. They grabbed the black from him and helped him out of the saddle and walked both he and the black around until they were cooled and stretched. There was food and water for both. The black had covered some thirty miles in four hours, and still wanted to run.

  Raynar rested for two hours, then he asked for another horse. The horse that was brought to him couldn't have been more different fro
m the black. He was a swayback beige plough horse who seemed too small to be much good in front of a plough. He was dusty and unkempt and still had his winter fur in a tangled mat on his shoulders and back. The saddle was old and wooden, and already had his pack and weapons on it.

  "Stay clear of Nottingham,” said the stableman, "keep to the north of it and cross the river Trent at East Bridgford. That's about thirty miles from here. It will be sunset by then. There is a stable just up river from the ford. You can sleep there."

  "It will be sunset in less than four hours,” replied Raynar, "I will only be halfway."

  The stableman grinned at him and tapped his nose with his forefinger.

  Raynar did not understand, but he climbed into the saddle and praised whoever had transferred the sheepskin from the black to the beige. His ass and thighs and back ached. It would be eight hours of pain before he reached his bed on the Trent.

  He was wrong. Gruesome swayback farm horse or not, the undersized plough horse had strong legs and a light frame and a pace that ate miles effortlessly. Instead of traveling fast like the black by alternating between trot and full race, the beige loped along in a rolling canter and only stopped when it needed a drink. The stableman had known what to expect of this horse. He had probably won many a wager on his butt ugly nose. Four hours, and thirty miles later, Raynar was walking it along the river Trent towards green grass and a bed.

  The stable was there, and the stablemen were expecting him. He was helped from the saddle and helped limping to a waiting bunk. He did not even have the energy to eat. He was snoring in moments, so he did not see a swarthy carter unhitch the horse from his cart, throw a saddle and a Ywen bow onto it, and ride away into the gloom towards Sherwood Forest.

  He was woken at first light with hot oat gruel and warm ale. The beige was already saddled and munching oats as well. He said his fair thee wells and offered coin, but was refused, so he just gripped the stableman well and mounted and walked the beige across the ford. The Trent was running high and fast, so he was wet to the thigh before he made the other side.